The year of the hurricane:

Samantha Perez's remarkable story of hope and strength

It’s been a year now, one year since Hurricane Katrina destroyed people’s lives, dreams, and homes, including my home of St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year. When I was younger, years seemed slower, steadier. Time stretched longer then. Time wasn’t important. This year was different. It flew by, and unless I concentrate hard on remembering, it’s all a blur in my head.

I remember distinct things: the bathroom mirror in the hotel in Bossier City, where I first evacuated; the smell of the dorm at LSMSA; the wonderful spaghetti I ate in Provencal; the FEMA camper where I lived for nine months. Those are the things that come to mind when I think of this past year, all distorted images stuck in some twisted kaleidoscope. The only time I can remember as vividly as ever is how it all started.

I recall leaving my St. Bernard early in the morning, before the sun had even started to rise. I remember that trip, the headlights, the tears. I remember the phone call when we learned that our home was gone, the feel of the hotel comforter beneath me, the cold touch of the travel camper. There are so many memories that will never disappear, but there are others that are already fading away. Sometimes, I forget how our house used to look, used to feel. It’s part of the past now, and there aren’t many pictures left of how things once were. The reminders aren’t photographs. Instead, the reminders of the past are the piles of debris that still, even now, line the streets and the gutted homes, shells of a life that once flourished here. Continue reading latest entry